It's funny that, right here and now, a woman wearing a beard and flaunting a naughty word can still kick up a ruckus, but, hey, who can really be surprised that various retailers have got their patriarchal ways in a knot over the long-time-coming second record of her royal Jewish permness Peaches? When her debut disc The Teaches of Peaches came right out right on three years ago, there was little else like it in either obscurist or popular pop-cultural; the pop-charts, at that time, were filled with all these Destiny's Child-inspired female-revenge fantasies  most of which seemed to involve shopping  that some commentators actually called "feminist"! Kicking such shiny shit into the grimiest gutter, former Canadian schoolteacher Merrill Nisker, armed with a drum machine and a serious pottymouth, staged a one-woman reclamation project on the hot topic of sex. Introducing us to her created persona Peaches, Nisker made like some unintentional punk-rock/feminist counter to the blunt beats and crass rhymes espoused by Schoolly D back in the day. Since, such sexed-up songs and saucy stage antics have made Peaches, over the years, become a quantifiable cult star, nearly synonymous with licentiousness in the now-growing legions of racy-electro-show types, her wake littered with a stream of inspired-by performers turning the one-man-show trick. One could guess that Peaches, then, would be juiced up for reinvention on this fore'er-anticipated second-up action, but Fatherfucker is, rather, a satisfying continuation of her already laid-down style, quietly upping the ante and slyly playing to the popularity that has gathered since that first album. Notably, she seems to have made a concerted effort to resist the temptation to go famous-guest crazy or to strap on too many guitars, letting both those notions come to bear on one sole Iggy-Pop-guesting rock'd-up cut, which seems like this disc's equivalent to last disc's "Rock Show." The album largely treads the same brazen minimal-electro territory; and most of the dick/tits/cunt-centric songs will be familiar for anyone who's seen Peaches' girlie-show shows in full-frontal effect over the past couple years. So, like, I guess we say: surprisingly solid. And mean it like we mean it, as compliment and everything.